“They do,” replied the other, promptly. “I could tell you a heap about these people, some of whom I’ve even met in my trips around.”
“Then go on and tell us,” urged Davy.
“Yes, we always like to know what’s doing,” added Giraffe, as he helped himself to another flapjack, which Jim, the younger guide, seemed to know how to make in a way calculated to appeal to a hungry camper’s appetite.
“Well, first of all there’s the spruce gum hunter,” Allan started to say. “You can follow the snowshoe trail of these busy chaps through pathless stretches, and find their camp-fires glowing in many a lonely glen. They get about between a dollar and a dollar and a half a pound, for the stuff, and it’s worth all of that. They usually travel in pairs, and collect many pounds in a season.”
“But how do they manage to climb some of these tall spruce trees we’ve seen on our trip?” asked Thad.
“Oh! that’s easy enough,” laughed the other. “Every spruce gum hunter has a pair of climbers with him. You’ve seen the telephone and telegraph wire men use these, fastened to their legs with straps. He has to have warm clothing; a curved chisel, in the handle of which a pole is set; a fine jack knife; and a gun. In the night he sits by the fire, smoking, while he cleans his day’s pick.”
“But he has to eat; tell us then how he totes his grub along; and where does he put up at in the woods? We haven’t run across any hotels up here, it strikes me?” asked Giraffe.
“As for his food,” Allan continued, “he drags on a moose sled, and it’s either a deserted camp, or the lee side of a tree every night, as he happens to find things. And he is satisfied with mighty little in the way of food, trusting to his gun to eke things out. With plenty of work, a few bushels of beans, some flour and molasses, and perhaps some coffee, a gum picker thinks himself well off for a winter’s campaign.”
“He must have a good eye for gum trees?” suggested Thad.
“Just what he has,” replied the accommodating Allan. “A near-sighted gum hunter, or even a careless one, would miss many a chance to fill up his pack. The keen picker runs his eye along every trunk. Here and there he sees a tall spruce marked by a seam, through which the sap has oozed, perhaps for years. The bubbles have crept out, and been clarified day by day by contact with sun and rain. There they are, nuggets of amber and garnet, ready for the picker’s chisel. Sometimes he climbs up, and taps away like a giant woodpecker. Then again, when it pays to do it, the tree is felled; for of course he has his axe along; no man would ever go into the Maine woods without that, you know.”
“If I was in that business,” spoke up Bumpus, “tell you what I’d do.”
“Go on, then,” said Giraffe, taking advantage of the fat boy’s abstraction to pick the pancake off his plate, there being no more in the main dish.
“Why, I’d just have a few acres of extra fine trees, and I’d scar ’em good and hard, so they’d bleed. Then, in a year or two, I’d just gather the gum, like they do in the turpentine regions down South.”
“Good idea, Bumpus,” declared Allan. “But another great man has thought of that same idea, which isn’t copyrighted either. Every year this man, who is called the spruce gum king, takes a certain circuit, and wounds the trees. Then, a couple of years afterwards he wanders that way, and reaps his harvest. There’s another industry that gives employment to lots of men up here. That’s gathering hoop poles.”
“Oh! tell us something about that,” demanded Step Hen.
“Well,” Allan went on, “he follows in the wake of the logger, you might say, for he just wants the second growth that springs up around the stumps left after the tree is cut down. He takes what no one else seems to want, the young birch and ash sprouts that are too plentiful anyway.
“He takes a horse with him on his tours, for he has lots to tote. He hauls his day’s cutting to camp, and spends the evening fixing the poles. It’s pretty hard work, I’m told, all around; but then the evenings are pleasant, what with the crackle of the fire; the swish of the shaves at work taking the bark off the poles; the pipe-smoking; and the story-telling.”
“What do they get for the poles after they’ve been skinned?” asked Step Hen.
“About two or three cents apiece, but that pays well for their work, and they bring in a heap of stuff through a winter. Of course, you know that these poles are split later, and used for barrels, the smaller ones for nail kegs, and to put around boxes. Down South all the orange boxes have such bindings.”
“Is that all the ways of earning a living up here in this wonderful country?” Thad asked, deeply interested.
“I should say decidedly not,” replied the other. “Why, I couldn’t begin to tell you the different things men do up here, besides acting as guides; fire wardens, to protect the woods; and logging. There’s the professional honey hunter who spends most of his time summers in locating bee trees. Then there’s the axe-handle man. He needs ash of a larger growth than the hoop-pole fellow. The trees are chopped in the fall, and then by means of a ‘froe’ and an axe, each handle is shaped out in a rough state. Then they are buried, that they may season without cracking.”
“How funny that is,” said Bumpus, who was listening to all this with eager ears.
“For fear that the wood may split,” continued Allan, “each end is daubed with a paint which is part grease; because ash goes to pieces mighty easy, if the sun gets at it. The rough handles are sent away to a factory to be nicely finished. Then there’s the fellow who hunts for ship knees; and I tell you he has no picnic. I tried it once, and I give you my word I don’t want to go out again.”
“Ship knees!” echoed Giraffe.
“Yes, and there are heaps of these picked up, but only after tough work. The prospector goes out with his axe, hunting for hack or back juniper, or tamarack. He must examine every one he finds to make sure it has just the right kind of a bend or crook; and then comes the job of digging it out, which is a muscle racking business, believe me.”
“Any more?” demanded Bumpus, when Allen paused to finish his coffee.
“Oh! yes, lots. I remember the fellow who goes after hemlock bark for the tanneries. Then there are the Indians who make baskets: or who prefer to have the old style birch bark canoe, to one of these elegant up-to-date canvas ones, that are built on exactly the same model as those used hundreds of years ago. Big birches are few and far between up in Maine now, and sometimes, as Sebattis here has told me, one of the Penobscots will travel nearly fifty miles before he can strike a tree large enough to make a canoe, yielding a piece of bark without a crack, or a knot-hole, where a branch has been lopped off.”
“That winds up the list, then, does it?” asked Step Hen, getting up.
“Far from it,” laughed Allen. “I could sit here for half an hour more, and tell you about other queer occupations that these wonderful Maine woods open up to the men who have a leaning that way. Why, I understand that some smart fellows have even been dredging some of the streams after the mussels or fresh water clams; and not only selling the shells to the factories where pearl buttons are manufactured, but finding pearls every little while.”
“Pearls, and up here of all places!” exclaimed Bumpus, as though amazed.
“Certainly,” replied Allen. “They’ve been taking a great many out in the streams of Indiana, Missouri and other states in the middle West these years back, and one man in the Moosehead region in Maine found a pearl not long ago that brought two hundred dollars, and was worth many times that when polished, I guess. And then, last but not least, are the trappers who are scattered all over the state. Each winter they take a tremendous amount of valuable fur; and as Maine is so far north, the pelts being several times as much as those in warmer countries. A muskrat hide from a swamp up here, is worth three times as much as one taken in Florida or Louisiana. But some other time I may tell you more about the resources of these great woods. It’s time we got busy doing things; and here are Thad and Davy just waiting to be moving on their little hunt.”
“Well, I declare,” remarked Bumpus, “I never had any idea the woods up here had such a lot of living in ’em for an army of men,” and he looked around at the encircling trees with renewed respect.
The little hunting party was soon ready to launch forth.
“Be back before night, I suppose?” bawled out Giraffe after them.
“We expect to,” replied Thad; “but if we hold off, make your minds up we’re all right, and don’t let Bumpus worry.”
“Huh! just as if Bumpus didn’t have enough to worry about as it is,” grumbled the fat boy. “I dreamed last night that when I got back to Cranford I found all my folks lined up at the station, and every blessed one apointin’ an accusin’ finger right at me, an’ lookin’ real sad. Say, I woke up all of a tremble, and was mighty glad to find that it was only a silly dream. Course I must a delivered that note to the bank; chances they’re ten to one I did; but I wish I knew; I just wish I could be dead sure!”
He was a bit gloomy all through the morning, and sat there staring into the red heart of the fire until Giraffe demanded to know whether he was sick; and if he meant to go out with them after lunch to hunt for that bee tree, or keep camp.
That seemed to excite Bumpus, and he again forgot all his troubles. But evidently his pondering had not brought any happy result; and he was just as far as ever from knowing whether he had carried out his father’s instructions with regard to that precious letter, or not.
The sun had indeed warmed things up toward noon. It often does during the fall season in Maine, and before the first heavy snow, making ideal weather; the early morning being crisp and delightful, with the middle of the day quite warm.
Allan had admitted that if ever they had a chance to find a bee tree that day ought to tell the tale. He believed that the young bees would surely be tempted to take some exercise before they were hived up for the long winter. And when there is a swarm buzzing around busily in a clump, they make quite some noise, that a keen ear can easily detect, if on guard.
So, after they had partaken of a light lunch, they started out, leaving Sebattis to look after the camp while they were gone.
Besides an axe, the boys carried a few things in which a supply of honey could be brought back, in case success followed their efforts, and a genuine bee tree was located.
Allan told them the comforting truth, that since this region had apparently not been hunted over for some years, there ought to be a very good chance of running across a hive. Of course they carried their guns, because no one could tell when these useful articles would be needed. And as Jim said, “when a man wants his gun, he gen’rally needs it in a big hurry.”
As they went along Allan took occasion to point out numerous things that bore some relation to the facts which he had so recently been telling them.
“That’s a birch almost big enough to make a canoe,” he remarked, pointing to a splendid specimen of the shapely tree that stood close by. “And over yonder is a tamarack on the border of that swale. You generally find them in swampy sections. And around this tree blown down by a storm, you can see growing a lot of young shoots, which, as like as not, the hoop pole man would cut for his use.”
Presently, however, he began to explain how they must stretch out, forming a line through the woods, and covering the ground. At one end Allen himself took up his station, with Jim the guide forming the other guard. This was a precaution, lest one of the others showed an inclination to stray. They were to keep in touch with one another by occasional shouts, which were to serve as signals. Each one had his particular and distinguishing call, and when Allen shouted, first Bumpus, next in line, then Step Hen, and after him Giraffe and Jim were to answer in order; that the one in charge could be sure that they were keeping in something of a straight line.
And in case a hum was heard that sounded like a hive, a certain cry, twice repeated, was to summon all the others to the spot.
The boys tramped for half an hour, with eyes and ears on the alert. Many times no doubt they imagined they caught the welcome buzzing sound, but upon coming to a halt in order to listen and make certain, before bringing their companions hurrying to the spot, it always devolved into something else, much to the chagrin and disappointment of the hunter.
Bumpus was fully awake to the great possibilities of the occasion. Somehow this honey hunting had become a sort of mania with him. It was not that he loved the sweet nectar of the hive any better than Giraffe for instance; but his nature was such that he liked to find things that were lost. And somehow the idea of locating a genuine bee tree appealed immensely to the fat boy.
So he tramped sturdily along, looking upward with a great effort, on account of his stout build, and frequently wishing Nature had endowed him with that “rubber neck” which Giraffe boasted, and which must be an ideal one for a wild honey hunter, Bumpus imagined. It was perhaps the first and only time he had ever envied his comrade in the possession of such a long neck.
But Bumpus really believed that fortune was going to be extra kind to him. He kept telling himself that if any one discovered the wonderful bee tree, it must be himself, because he had dreamed of it so very often.
Now and then he answered the calls which Allen sent out. He did this because he had a horror of getting lost. These woods seemed everlastingly big to him; and he could just imagine the terrible condition that must face any tenderfoot scout who managed to stray away from contact with his camp mates.
About three quarters of an hour had gone now, and as yet no cry announcing the successful find had come pealing along the line. Bumpus was beginning to feel tired, without any question. He admitted it to himself, but grudgingly, for he did not want to halt the proceedings, now that they were actually engaged in the bee hunt.
He refreshed himself at every water hole he came to, whether it were a running brook, or just a tiny pond with a thin skim of ice along the shore.
They were passing through a rather thick patch of woods when Bumpus felt another thrill. He felt certain that he had caught something that sounded like the buzzing of a swarm of insects; and as he had more than once meddled with the hive his people had at home, Bumpus was well qualified to know what the droning might be like.
Eagerly did he look upward, all around him. Then he began to locate the quarter from which it seemed to come, and in so doing brought to bear what little woods’ lore he had managed to pick up; for he actually noted the direction of the slight breeze, and how the noise came to him more clearly as he moved to a certain point.
Finally he believed it must come from one tree in particular. He made several tests, and each time his conviction grew more and more positive. And still the droning kept up. But the tree was a very tall one, and Bumpus had never trained his eyes to detecting small objects at a distance. In fact, some of his friends had even declared that he must be near-sighted, though he stoutly denied this.
Then suddenly, he saw a confused blur between himself and the blue sky above the tops of the trees. It actually moved back and forth in a singular swaying way.
Bumpus thrilled now with new pride. He fully believed that in this tall tree of the Maine woods he had actually located a bee hive that would assure them all the clarified sweetness they could carry away.
And when he had made as sure of this as he could, Bumpus put his trembling hands to his mouth, and sent out in his loudest tones the call agreed upon to tell the others that he, Bumpus, had after all been the one to succeed.
“A false alarm, boys!” sang out the envious Giraffe, as they all came hurrying up to the spot where Bumpus was dancing about excitedly, with a wide grin on his rosy fat face.
“It is, hey?” declared the discoverer, indignantly; “well, you just wait and see what Allan here says. There’s the tree it’s in; and if you put on your specs, Giraffe, p’raps even you c’n see the swarm buzzin’ around up yonder.”
“He’s right, boys,” declared Allan, quickly; “even before I look I can hear the noise that tells the truth. We’ve found our bee tree; and the honor goes after all to our chum, Bumpus.”
“Hurrah for Bumpus!” exclaimed Step Hen, pounding the fat scout on the back, after the custom of boys in general.
They were all soon able to locate the buzzing sound, and gaped up with growing eagerness at the place where the swarm was in motion.
“Looks like a big hive, too,” ventured Giraffe.
“You never can tell,” Allan declared; “but from the signs I wouldn’t be surprised if it was an old one, and just stocked to the doors with honey.”
“Wow! that suits me,” Giraffe went on; “I can stand it every meal, right along. Never yet did get enough of the stuff.”
“But it’s awful high up,” ventured Step Hen. “How under the sun will we ever climb up there, and dig it out?”
“Don’t have to,” remarked Bumpus, placidly; “that tree’s just got to be chopped down, so’s to let us scoop up all the stuff we can carry back home.”
“But it’s a whopper of a tree,” Step Hen went on; “and who’s goin’ to chop it down, I’d like to know?”
“Oh!” remarked Bumpus, pleasantly, “that was all fixed long ago. You may remember that once Giraffe here promised to chop down the tree, if ever I located a hive. Well, there’s the tree; so get busy, Giraffe. It’s a pretty hefty axe, too, I should think; but you know how to swing one. I’ll sit down on this log, and see how you get on; because I’ve done my part.”
Giraffe started to answer back; then thought better of it; and seizing hold of the axe that Jim the guide carried, he started to hack the tree.
But Giraffe was no woodsman, and made such a sorry mess of it that Jim finally took pity on him. He knew the scout would never get that tree down in a day, judging from the clumsy way he started in. Besides, there would be danger of the amateur chopper bringing it down on himself. It takes an experienced woodsman to judge how a tree is inclined to fall. One of these fellows can drop a tree almost in any exact place he wants, unless the slant of the trunk is entirely too great to be overcome by judicious work with the axe.
From time to time Allan “spelled” the guide, for he knew how to handle an axe to some advantage. And the others stood around, watching with interest the clever way in which the sharp axe cut into the wood, exactly on a line with preceding strokes.
“I could never learn to do that in a coon’s age,” admitted Bumpus.
“But I mean to, and before I quit these here Maine woods,” declared Giraffe. “A feller that’s as fond of fires as me, ought to know how to chop down a tree, so’s to always have plenty of wood for burnin’.”
“And I can see the finish of these grand woods, after you do learn how,” remarked Step Hen, a little sarcastically. “You’ll never rest as long as there’s one tree left to burn.”
“Hey, she’s shivering, now; better look out, fellers, because that tree’s goin’ to come down right soon!” called out Bumpus, edging away.
After a little more work Jim made the rest all get back beyond the danger line, in case the tree did chance to swing around; which he knew would not be the case; because Jim had once been a logger, and doubtless felled hundreds of larger trees than this one.
With a crash it came plunging down, just where the man with the axe had said he meant to drop it.
“Whoop! Hurrah!” shrilled the excited Bumpus, who held a kettle in his hands; and carried away by the thrill of the moment, he forgot all the warning he had received from Allan, plunging straight toward the upper part of the tree.
“Split wide open, fellers, and oh! my, just look at the honey spilled all over the ground! What a wicked waste. Oh! Oh!”
“Come back from there!” shouted Jim.
It was too late. Bumpus was in the midst of the excited swarm of bees that had started to whirl around, dazed at first by the sudden catastrophe that had overtaken their house, but rapidly becoming furiously angry.
“Look at the silly, would you?” cried Step Hen, staring aghast at Bumpus, who had already started to fill his receptacle with the honey comb that lay around, partly broken by the fall of the tree.
“They’re after him!” shrieked Giraffe, who thought it a comical sight to see the fat boy trying to gather up the sweet stuff with one hand, while the other was busily engaged slapping at the insects that began to get their work in on various parts of his anatomy.
Finally even the fortitude of Bumpus gave way before the onslaught of that army of angry bees, each member of which was armed with a sting that could make things exceedingly interesting for the intruder.
So Bumpus began a masterly retreat. At first he clung to his spoils; and then, finding that he needed a dozen arms to ward off the savage little insects he dropped his plunder, and set out on a wild run, kicking and slapping at a tremendous rate.
Giraffe laughed heartily at the sight. He had advanced much further than the others, before realizing that the example of Bumpus was reckless, and Step Hen’s calling warned him to pull up.
In the midst of his merriment Giraffe was seen to give a vicious lunge at the side of his head; this was followed by another, and another, as more bees found him out; until with a yell he too had to seek safety in flight, his long arms waving every which way, like flails on a barn floor; or the wings of a Dutch windmill in action.
It was a pair of very contrite boys that presently asked Allan’s advice as to what was best for bee stings. Step Hen himself could not keep from grinning at the enlarged appearance of their heads, and even gave them some fatherly advice about the folly of being so conceited, and having such swelled heads over a little thing like that.
But Allan found some mud on the border of a nearby pond, with which he plastered their hurts in the good old-fashioned way known to the early pioneers. After which there were two of the most comical looking fellows ever seen wearing the uniform of Boy Scouts. All the same, the cool mud did seem to ease the terrible burning caused by the stings, and Allan said it would in a measure take out the poison.
“No more rheumatism cures for me, I tell you,” remarked Giraffe. “Whew! I guess the remedy is some worse than the disease. And can’t those little beggars just poke it into you, though? Every time one stung me, I felt like he was pushing a six-inch knife into me, and heated red hot at that. Honey, oh! yes, I like you; but I’d rather buy it in the market after this.”
“But don’t think of giving up so soon,” remarked Step Hen. “I’m dead sure Allan here knows of a way to get all the honey we want, and never be stung once, don’t you, Allan?”
“I’ll show you how it’s done,” replied the other, “though in the summer time the bee hunters often carry a piece of mosquito netting along, which they fasten over their hats, so the insects can’t get at them. But there’s another way. Bees are in deadly fear of smoke. All bee men give them a few puffs of smoke before they open the hive.”
“What does that do, stupefy the poor little critters?” asked Step Hen, who did not know as much about bees as even Bumpus.
“Why, you see,” volunteered the latter, wishing to air his knowledge, “bees, as soon as they scent smoke, believe their hive is on fire. Every feller gets busy right away, loading up with honey. And when they’re doing that, they won’t take any notice of other things, so they c’n be handled easy enough. I know somethin’ ’bout bees, because we got a new fangled hive at home.”
“Huh! I just guess you know more about ’em right now than ever you did before, Bumpus,” chuckled Step Hen, who had not been stung once; “and it’s been impressed on you pretty strong, too, so’s to keep you from forgettin’ the same. After this you ain’t agoin’ to romp into a hive of bees that’s been upset, not in a hurry.”
“Allan, s’pose you get busy with that smoke,” remarked Bumpus, disdaining to appear to notice this slur on his capacity for bee lore.
“We’d better wait a little longer,” the other advised; “so we can get closer. They’ll quiet down in a little while, and then we can make the fire on the windward side, so that the smoke must drift right across the hive.”
Presently he set them to work collecting just the kind of fuel he wanted, and which was calculated to make a dense smoke. When this smudge was started going it seemed to set the bees working with feverish eagerness to load themselves down with honey. No one ever has learned just why they do this, unless it is the desire to save enough food for self support; because they never attempt to rescue any of the young brood in the cells.
“Ain’t it near time now?” asked the impatient Bumpus, whom even the swollen condition of his neck and cheeks did not seem to entirely cure of that eager desire to snatch the fruits of his victory from the savage little army of protectors.
“A little longer, and then we can set to work. Better let Jim and me do the main part of it, boys. You might be too excited; and it’s always that kind of a fellow the bees tackle. I’ve known bee keepers who handle their hives day in and day out all season, and seldom get a sting. They’re cool, and never make a false move, such as knocking the box, or coughing, or any sort of sound that will anger the insects.”
He went on to tell them some interesting facts connected with the finding of bee trees, which he had either heard from the lips of others, or witnessed himself.
Ten minutes passed, and Bumpus was growing impatient again, when Allan remarked:
“Now, the time is up, I guess; and if you keep back of us, and hand us the buckets, Jim and myself can begin to get some of that clear stuff, which looks like this season’s make. It won’t take only a little time till we fill everything we brought, and there must be a ton of the stuff, all told, in this big old hive.”
Even Giraffe forgot his late unpleasantness as he again advanced nearer the spot where the stores of scattered sweetness lay.
It did not take long for the honey gatherers to fill every receptacle they had brought along with them. Bumpus was once more feeling a little like himself, though Step Hen did take occasion to warn him against showing his pride over being the one to find the bee tree.
“Honors are about even, I guess, Bumpus,” he would remark, with stinging emphasis; “you found the bees, and they found you, all right, looks like. And you’re swelled up enough now without letting yourself puff out any more. We all admit that you’re a wonder, and that you’ve sure got an eye for bee trees; just as Giraffe here is crazy about the stuff. Look at him now, would you, munching at that comb just like it was a slice of bread and jam.”
“Yum! yum!” remarked the person in question, whose face was smeared almost up to his ears with the sticky stuff; “ain’t had such a delicious feed since I sneaked into the preserve closet at home when a kid, and the spring lock caught. I knew I’d be in for a tannin’ and was bound to get the worth of it first, so I just ate and ate, tryin’ to sample every kind there was. It made me sick though, which was worse than the strappin’ my dad gave me. But this is the finest ever, barring none. Yum! yum! and more to follow, too.”
“Well, if I was like that, I’d just camp out alongside this old nest, till I’d scraped it clean, if it took all winter,” declared Step Hen; who did not happen to care particularly for sweet things, and therefore felt no sympathy for the other pair of scouts.
Bumpus had also tasted his find, and pronounced it prime. They could hardly coax Giraffe away from the fallen bee tree; and in securing a last comb of the lovely clear honey, he managed to get a few more stings that rather added to his ridiculous appearance. Step Hen nearly took a fit every time he looked at that pair, nor could Allan blame him; for they certainly were a sight calculated to make any one forget all his own troubles.
The afternoon wore away, and those who remained in camp talked over the next thing which was on the programme. This was nothing more nor less than making an effort to bag a bear; and of course Giraffe was particularly interested, because of the boast he had made in Cranford that he did not mean to return home until he had, alone and unaided, shot a black bear.
“There was sure enough smell of honey in the air around that old bee tree to set a bear crazy for a taste, if he ever got wind of the treat,” declared Allan, when Giraffe asked him for the fifth time about the chances they had of meeting with Bruin.
“Mebbe he’s over there now, fillin’ up?” suggested Bumpus, who was not very much interested, because he could not be coaxed to go all the way back to where they had secured their store of sweets, even though sure of seeing a bear diving into the honey tree, and stowing away great quantities of the sticky stuff.
“No, it isn’t likely he’s abroad in the daytime,” Allan replied. “He got something of a scare when we chased him out of here, and I guess he’s lying snug in some old hollow, where he can take up his quarters for the winter. But when night comes, I think he’ll venture out; and once he does, he’ll sniff that scent a mile away; for a bear, like all wild animals, has a great nose for odors.”
“Then we don’t need to go out till after supper?” suggested Giraffe. “Glad about that, too, because I’m some tired.”
“I should think you would be,” Step Hen put in, maliciously; “after that great sprint you did when the little busy bees tried to hand you their cards. If you could only make that fast time in a schoolboy race, you’d be a wonder, Giraffe.”
“Huh! glad you think so, Step Hen,” grunted the other.
Time passed on. The afternoon waned, and supper was cooking; but as yet the absent scouts, with old Eli along, had not returned.
“No use waiting for ’em any longer, fellers,” remarked Giraffe, who, as the shadows gathered, was anxious to be off, for fear lest the bear get to the honey tree, and secure a full supply before they arrived.
“Anyhow, we need not be bothered about Thad who knows how to get around, even if he has to stay out all night,” declared Step Hen.
“Besides, they’ve got old Eli along; and what he don’t know about the Maine woods you could put in a thimble,” remarked Bumpus, not at all averse to attacking the supper Jim had cooked, and which seemed to have a splendid odor.
Accordingly, they sat down, and hurried through the meal. Giraffe kept urging Allan and Jim to hurry up, and in consequence they were all done before it was actually dark.
Giraffe took special pains to look his big rifle over before starting, for he wanted to be able to depend on it when the time came for business. Doubtless the boy could not quite forget the slurs that had been cast on his father’s weapon, when the new up-to-date repeater, with its mushroom bullets, had given such a good account of itself, at the time of the killing of the moose; and he was fully determined that he would equal the score Thad had set, if given a chance.
Jim declared he could lead them straight to the fallen bee tree, and Allan seemed to put full confidence in the guide. So they set forth.
Sebattis, Step Hen and Bumpus was left behind, to guard the camp and the canoes.
Perhaps it would seem a long way to Giraffe, for he had gone through considerable since daybreak. And those bee stings must have robbed him of more or less energy. But the prospect of big game buoyed up his spirits, and he trudged along with the other two, changing his heavy gun occasionally from one shoulder to the other, in order to rest himself.
“Smells pretty strong of honey, I must say,” he muttered, after they had been moving quite some time.
This was doubtless intended to be put out as a “feeler;” and it worked well too, for Allan immediately remarked:
“Nearly there, Giraffe; a few minutes more, and you’ll see the tree we cut down.”
“D’ye think he c’n be there?” whispered the long scout, nervously fingering the lock of his rifle, as he peered ahead into the gloom of the night, possibly seeing a bear rearing up on his hind legs, every time he caught sight of a dim tree before him.
“Jim says no, he hasn’t come yet,” replied Allan, also allowing his voice to sink; for although they were coming up to windward of the bee tree, it was better to be doubly cautious.
Presently they arrived on the spot, and found all quiet. Bruin had evidently not reached the scene, though both Jim and Allan were just as positive as ever that the old fellow would be along before a great while.
So Jim selected the place where they would lie in wait. It was close enough to the broken bee hive to afford Giraffe a splendid chance for a shot. Allan had made sure to fetch along the little electric hand torch belonging to Thad. This he meant to manipulate himself, and believed it would be all that was necessary to catch the attention of the honey-eating bear, and hold him in surprise until Giraffe could take aim, and pull trigger.
After that they had to remain very quiet indeed, lest some incautious movement warn the bear of their presence. Jim had seen to it that both the boys had dressed warmly, even donning sweaters for the occasion; since it is a shivery job to sit for one or more hours of a cold night, hardly daring to move. The blood seems to become congealed in the veins with the inaction; and once a shiver passes over the frame, the teeth start to chattering even against all will power.
When an hour had gone, Giraffe began to grow tired. He was more or less apt to show impatience, at any rate, and had not learned the lesson of controlling his boyish desire to have things happen quickly.
Allan was just on his left, holding the torch ready for action; and by leaning that way Giraffe could speak in the lowest of whispers.
“This is gettin’ tough,” he admitted.
“Keep standing it a while longer,” came in reply.
“But do you really think he’ll come along yet?” asked Giraffe, disconsolately, as he pictured Bumpus and Step Hen sitting so snugly beside the glowing fire he loved so much.
“Both Jim and I think the chances are the old fellow’s on the way right now,” answered the comforter.
“All right, then, I’ll just try to stand it a while longer; but I hope my hands don’t tremble this way when I come to shoot,” Giraffe went on to say.
“Keep your gun resting on the log, just like I showed you,” said Allan. “That way it won’t much matter if you are shivering. And be sure and shoot just as soon as you’re certain you’ve got his shoulder covered. I won’t butt in unless I think he’s going to get away. Now, close up again, Giraffe.”